


Two Weeks

by withhishands



Series: West Point [2]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Skype
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:45:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withhishands/pseuds/withhishands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey video chats with Ian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Weeks

**Author's Note:**

> This is dedicated to a wonderful, new friend who gave me the idea. I hope this isn't too terrible. I can't write sex stuff.

"This is fuckin' awful," Mickey mumbles to the computer. He clicks a few buttons and succeeds in not changing anything. 

"It's a fucking button that has a picture of a video camera on it," Ian's voice says through the computer speakers. 

"Shut up," Mickey snaps. 

He finds the button and watches the box expand to include a video stream. Ian's dopey face takes up most of the box. Mickey maximizes the box so Ian's face takes up his whole screen. Mickey's probably smiling, but he's too happy to really care. 

He hasn't seen Ian in two weeks. Mickey finally broke down and stole Mandy's fucking computer so he could video chat with his long-distance Gallagher. He thought the idea was awful the first time Ian brought it up, but after listening to Mandy video chat with him at the kitchen table, Mickey changed his mind. 

He's definitely not at the kitchen table, though. He's in his room, with a chair propped up against the door, with no one home. 

"Hey," Ian says, lamely. 

"Hey," Mickey repeats. 

Mickey can't think of anything to say, though. He just stares at Ian's mildly pixelated face and tries to see if he looks different. Ian's smile only gets wider with the silence and then abruptly stops when something happens on his end.

Mickey pushes the volume up on the laptop and tries to listen.

"Inspection again?" Ian asks to someone. Probably his roommate, Rusty.

Mickey can hear muted voices. Ian shifts his gaze around the room before looking back down at the laptop.

"Hang on," he says, tilting the laptop down so Mickey is left staring at the blue blanket on Ian's bed.

Mickey tries to think of things to say. When he's with Ian, in New York, in Chicago, he never has a hard time talking. But, there's no pressure, then. They don't have to talk. This is a phone call, though. Or close to one. He has to talk.

Ian climbs back into view and tilts the screen back up to his face. He's farther back this time. Mickey can see his gray t-shirt stretch across his chest and lay snug against his biceps. Mickey bites his lip and forces himself to focus.

"Random second inspection," Ian explains.

Mickey nods. He's been there for inspections before. Ian always managed to ask distracting questions during his visits so the inspecting officer doesn't look too closely at the obvious bump in Ian’s bedding.

"Is that Mickey Mouse?" Mickey hears Rusty yell from the other side of the room. Mickey rolls his eyes.

"Fuck off, Rusty," Mickey yells back. He actually likes Rusty because Rusty doesn't take anyone's bullshit and isn't afraid of standing up for things. Most importantly, maybe, he breaks about a dozen barack rules by helping Ian sneak Mickey in.

Ian waves Rusty out of the room.

"He's gone," Ian says, looking at the camera again. "What've you been doing?"

Mickey rolls his eyes again. Ian knows what he's been doing and that's a grand total of absolutely nothing. He runs drugs for his dad and plays house with Carla.

"The fuck do you think I've been doing?" Mickey asks, laughing.

"Just trying to have a conversation with you," Ian says with a smile. "How much have you got saved? I wanna book your flight for next month."

"Not enough," Mickey says. If he went back to taking the train to New York, they'd be able to cut the cost of the trip in half. The train takes twenty hours, though, and a flight only takes two. Mickey hated wasting a whole day traveling.

"I get my stipend next week," Ian says.

"I can get enough by then." He's got maybe a hundred in small bills hidden in a whole in the wall behind a poster in his bedroom. He hides whatever he doesn't spend on food and alcohol.

"Good," Ian says. "I'll send you whatever you don't have. I think the tickets were two seventy-five last time I looked."

Mickey nods. The school gives Ian a stipend of almost a thousand a month. They take out most of it for book fees and tuition and food, but everything else gets deposited into an account. Ian sends Fiona everything he has left at the end of the month except when Mickey makes plans to visit. He'll send Mickey enough to cover half of a plane ticket, sometimes more during a rough patch. Mickey thought he'd resent it at first, but he's used to it now.

"Three more kids dropped out," Ian comments when Mickey makes no effort to add to the conversation.

"Why?"

Ian shrugs and says, "Too hard? I dunno. The one who dropped from my company was real tough, too. Reminded me a lot of you."

"Hopefully not too much," Mickey says with a grimace.

"Relax," Ian says, smiling.

Mickey doesn't necessarily like feeling jealous, but he does like the grin on Ian's face when he lets it show. Mickey knows that Ian fucks around. It sits like a brick in Mickey's stomach. But, Mickey's not the poster-boy for monogamy, either. He might not let anyone fuck him, but he's far from celibate. It doesn't make sense for them to be exclusive when they live seven hundred miles apart.

"That makes twenty from my class since last year," Ian says, continuing his story. "Not including Beast."

Beast is what Ian calls basic training, his first six weeks of training as a freshman. It’s the most difficult and most strenuous part of their career at West Point. Or so Ian says. Mickey didn't talk to him once during those first two months because it’s against Beast policy or something.

"That's nothing," Mickey says. "You've got like four thousand classmates."

"Yeah," Ian says, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm just worried. These guys seemed completely fine before they left. Well, most of them. A few of them, you could tell they were done. But, Jared, the guy I was telling you about, was always ready for everything they threw at us."

"Are you worried that you're gonna snap and quit?" Mickey asks.

Mickey knows how much becoming an officer means to Ian even if Mickey hates it. Parts of Mickey want Ian to quit, the selfish parts. The parts that don't want Ian to be in a five-year commitment to the army when he graduates.

"I guess," Ian says. "I don't know."

"Shut up, then," Mickey says. "You're not going to quit."

Ian smiles and twists his hands together, like Mickey complimented him. Mickey thinks it's dumb, but he doesn't comment.

"So, uh, how long's Rusty gone for?" Mickey asks.

"He said an hour," Ian says, pulling up his wrist to check the time. "So like forty more minutes."

Mickey raises an eyebrow and grins. He's not wasting forty minutes alone with Ian, without anyone in his house, with small talk.

"Get your dick out, then," Mickey says.

"This is going to be fuckin' weird," Ian comments. He pushes the laptop off of his lap and Mickey watches, fascinated, as Ian pulls off his shirt. The way Ian's sitting makes his usually tight, muscled abdomen bunch up, which makes Mickey feel a little better. He's nowhere near as in shape as Ian. Mickey tugs his shirt off and pushes his sweats down. 

Ian's got the laptop off to the side. With a pillow under his head and his body turned on it’s side, Mickey can see his dick and his face. The angle is a little better than Mickey's, but when he goes to move his computer, Ian says stop. 

"Don't," he says, tugging on his dick. "Are you- Oh Jesus, this is weird. Are you just going to jack off?"

Mickey doesn't know what else he wants from him. Of course he's just going to jack off. He can't very well suck himself off. 

Ian must understand Mickey's confusion because he blushes and his hand stutters on his dick. 

"Are you- Will you, you know, finger yourself?" he says quickly, without looking at the camera. 

Mickey grins. He sets the laptop on his side table and sits against the wall, facing the laptop. He swipes a bottle of lube and spreads his legs. 

"Oh shit," Ian says. Mickey can still see Ian when he looks at the laptop through his parted legs and smiles at the wrecked look on Ian's face. Mickey covers his fingers with lube and presses two in. He fists his cock with his other hand and watches Ian do the same. 

The whole thing is weird, like Ian said, but Mickey still likes it. He's three weeks away from getting Ian's physical cock inside of him, and this is just going to have to do for now. He pushes his fingers in when Ian's hand strokes downward on his cock, imagining to the best of his abilities that it's actually Ian. 

"Oh my God," Ian groans. "I miss you."

"You just miss my ass," Mickey says in a strangled voice. 

"Shit, I miss both of you," Ian says. 

Mickey laughs. He zones out on the feeling of his fingers in his ass and the sight of Ian's pink cock sliding through his strong hand. Mickey comes first. He fucks himself through his orgasm and then looks back at Ian. Ian's hand is slower on his cock as he watches Mickey come undone on the screen. Mickey pulls his fingers out slowly, deliberately, and Ian's pace quickens. 

Mickey stares at his screen. Ian's hips start lifting, a sure signal he's about to come. Mickey knows all of his tells, but that's the only one he can see on the computer screen. He can't see him actually come; Ian's skin is too pale to see the contrast of the come against his stomach, but Mickey knows he does by the grunt. 

Mickey grabs a shirt from the floor and wipes himself clean. Ian does the same. Mickey doesn't bother pulling on boxers, though, like Ian does. Mickey is going straight to sleep after they're done on the video chat. 

"We need to do that more," Ian says. He pulls the laptop closer, his face filling Mickey's screen. Mickey mimics him and sets his laptop closer. Mickey grins stupidly at Ian, too high off of coming to care how it looks. 

"Give me fifteen minutes," Mickey says, laughing. 

"I mean in general," Ian says. "I can't wait three weeks to fuck you again."

"Yeah, well, you have to."

"What about two weeks? Can you come a week earlier? We'll have the money," Ian says. Mickey can hear the conviction in his voice. 

"Jesus," Mickey mumbles. Their visits are getting too close together. It started as once every three months. They're up to once every month now. Mickey's worried what this escalation means for them when Ian graduates in two years and leaves. Mickey won't be able to visit him. He won't even actually know if he'll ever see Ian again. He shoves the thought from his mind. "Two weeks," Mickey agrees.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah? Leave me prompt suggestions? Talk to me on [tumblr](withhishands.tumblr.com)?
> 
> Also, I've taken a fair amount of creative liberties with this story. West Point has an incredibly strict visitor policy. It's unlikely that Mickey would be able to sneak into the baracks for a night. Beast is a real thing. It's what weeds out quite a few of cadets in the first six weeks. I don't know how many people drop during their actual school year, but I needed something for Ian to fret about.


End file.
